Whatever It Takes
by justin.jossart
Summary: The Hunger Games are brutal, violent and unforgiving. Only the strongest and smartest can call themselves Victors. When Peeta Mellark is reaped for the 74th Hunger Games, he has no intention of playing along with the Capitol's Game. However, a promise to his grey eyed girlfriend might change his mind. Is Peeta ready to be a killer? Will he do Whatever It Takes? Eventual Everlark.
1. Chapter 1

**Whatever It Takes**

 **by**

 **Justin Jossart**

 **DISCLAIMER: I DON'T OWN THE HUNGER GAMES TRILOGY. THIS IS A NON-PROFIT FANFICTION.**

 **Chapter One: The Promise**

 **Peeta**

Her light tapping on the glass pane of my window brings a soft smile to my lips. I slide the sketch I'm working on across the desk, hiding it beneath one of my sketch pads. As much as I care about her, she sometimes gets a little weird about open displays of affection, even in private. After three years of these 'visits,' I know to let her set the tone. If she's feeling flirty, I flirt back. If she needs to talk, I give her a shoulder to lay her problems on. If she just needs physical contact, I'm more than willing to give her that, too.

Over the years, I've learned that she's more skittish than the animals she hunts, likely to bolt through the window at the slightest misstep on my part. She comes and goes as she pleases, never letting things go too far, but I'm alright with that. I love her, I've always loved her, though I know better than to tell _her_ that. It was only a couple of months ago that she slipped and called me her 'boyfriend' for the first time.

I slide the window open, stepping back to allow her entrance. Her elegant movements remind me of a jungle cat as her long, supple limbs climb through. She's grace personified, not like the tittering girls from town. Katniss Everdeen is a huntress, a predator, even when she's not in the woods.

"Hey." Her soft, husky voice is music to my ears. She's looking everywhere but my eyes as a pretty blush paints her dusky cheeks.

"Hey," I reply, brushing my knuckles across her cheekbone. She leans into my touch, her gray eyes fluttering closed. My lips brush across hers. She responds eagerly, fisting my shirt in her small hands, pressing her petite frame against my body and deepening the kiss. I guess tonight is a 'physical' night.

"I missed you," she whispers as her blush deepens. I can barely hear the words, but they make me smile all the same. I've missed her, too. Prim's been having nightmares as the Reaping approaches, and the adorable twelve year old always comes first.

Her hands slide up my chest, clutching at my hair, tugging on the golden locks almost painfully. I don't know what her obsession is with my hair, but hardly a visit goes by without her fingers combing through it at least once. She's kissing me forcefully now, bruising my lips in her fervor. My heart starts beating rapidly in my chest. Maybe tonight's the night...

I grasp her thighs, barely feeling her weight as I lift her easily. She moans into my mouth, and I can't help but smile against her lips as she wraps her toned thighs around my waist. Her silvery gaze darkens as I lay her gently on the bed. The space between us is warm and electrified, reminding me of the air before a summer storm. Her lips are lightning, her soft moans the thunder, her light touches falling like rain drops on my back, shoulders and neck.

We stay like that for a while. I lose myself in the moment, my hands sliding beneath her shirt. Her back is smooth and soft, her muscles rippling beneath my palms. She's so small that I can almost cover the entire plane of her back. My lips travel to the vulnerable skin at the base of her neck, nipping lightly at the spot that I know drives her crazy. Her hips buck against mine, grinding her core against me. I move my own hips to match, eliciting an adorable squeal from the goddess beneath me.

"We should stop," she gasps. I can hear the reluctance in her voice, but I comply with her request, placing a final kiss on her swollen lips before giving her room to sit up. Her braid has loosened but still holds, though a few rebellious strands frame her face. I can't keep myself from staring. She's so beautiful it hurts. "Are you nervous about tomorrow?"

Her question surprises me. This is... new. Most of her visits encompass a single activity. On a 'physical' night, she's normally gone by now, fading like a dream as swiftly as she arrived. "I guess," I say, nodding. "I'm trying not to think about it. How's Prim holding up?"

Her glare comes as no surprise. I've breached one of the forbidden topics. I'm not allowed to discuss our families, Hawthorne, feelings, the future or her hunting unless she does so first. So really, nothing less superficial than the weather or school. It's one of the few things that annoys me about our relationship. "She's fine. It's her first Reaping. She's had some nightmares this week, but she'll be okay. She's only got the one slip; the odds _are_ in her favor."

"How many do you have?" I don't want to know the answer, but I can't help myself.

"Twenty." She notices my wince. "It's not that bad. I know someone with over forty." We both know that she's talking about Gale Hawthorne, her best friend. He's her hunting partner, providing for a family of five, and is eighteen. I'm honestly surprised he doesn't have fifty.

I'm a little leery about Katniss spending so much time with him, though I've never voiced my concerns. He's older, good looking, and impossibly tall. I know he's into Katniss, and I'm pretty sure that he doesn't know that Katniss and I are... doing whatever we're doing. Sometimes it crosses my mind that she's just using me, playing the field a bit before settling down with Hawthorne, but this is an uncomfortable thought, used to being pushed away.

"I should go. Prim's going to get worried soon. I wasn't planning on coming tonight, but I just..." She shakes her head. She's already edging towards the window. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow." I'd ask her to stay, but I know she won't. She never does. She's gone before I finish speaking, disappearing through the open window as silently as one of the child stealing fairies in the old stories. My tingling lips and mussed hair are the only clues she was ever here.

I flop down on my bed, simultaneously rejoicing and hating myself. I'm too much of a coward to ask her for something more serious, but I know that I can't keep going like this. If I push her for more than she's willing to give she'll leave me without a second thought, but if I don't I'll never be satisfied. As much as I enjoy the time we spend together, I can't help but want more. I want to hold her hand as I walk her home from school. I want to sit with her at lunch. I want inside her carefully constructed walls so damn bad, but she's an expert at keeping me at bay.

I spend so long thinking about olive skin and grey eyes that I don't even notice I'm falling asleep.

I'd like to say that the day of the Reaping starts like any other, that I wake up calm and collected. I'd like to say that I don't shake and shiver in my bed uncontrollably, my hands grasping and clawing at my scratchy, threadbare bedspread in silent terror, but I'd be lying. A small whimper escapes my lips as I stare up at the ceiling, all too aware of Rye's heavy snores in the bedroom across the hall. It's early, much too early to get up for the day, even for a baker's son. Instead, I just lay there with my eyes wide as my heart pounds in my chest.

I only have five slips in the Reaping bowl this year. It's much less than a lot of kids my age, especially those in the Seam. One of the many advantages of growing up in the merchant class is that I never had to take out any tesserae to keep my family fed. I know that I'm lucky to have been born in the family I did, even though I won't inherit the family business. No, that honor will probably go to Rye. Barley, my eldest brother, has already apprenticed with the carpenter after marrying old Gaunt's only grand-daughter a few years ago. He'll be crafting everything from doors to tables to storage sheds for the rest of his life.

Rye, on the other hand, is engaged to Sienna Rawlins. He's been head over heels with her for years now. She led him on a merry chase, always staying just out of his reach, which is probably why he was so interested. Most of the girls at school, both Seam and Merchant, fell all over themselves for his attention, especially after it became apparent that he would be inheriting the bakery, but he only had eyes for Sienna. They finally got together at one of the dances this last year, and I've never seen him so happy. No one's supposed to know, but she's already pregnant. They'll sign their documents at the Justice Building after the Reaping is over, assuming Effie doesn't pluck their names from the Reaping bowls. It'll be a bit of a scandal when the kid comes only a few months after their toasting, but my future niece or nephew won't be the first 'premature' baby in District 12.

Unlike my brothers, my future doesn't look so bright. The merchant class is rather small. There are only so many businesses to inherit, and the only one without a male in the line is the grocer's, and I'll be damned if I'm going to marry Delly Cartwright. No, my girlfriend isn't going to bring anything more to the marriage than a bow and a hunting jacket, assuming she'd be willing to marry me in the first place. I'm probably going to end up in the mines like her father and Hawthorne. Besides, any marriage between me and Katniss would have to wait until Prim had graduated and could take over her mother's healing trade.

I can't help but think that she'd probably be more accepting towards a real relationship if I'm already living and working in the Seam. I'm fully aware of her and Hawthorne's opinions about us 'Townies.'

Class divide runs deep here in 12, though it wouldn't be that big of a scandal if a third son was caught with a Seam girl. Everyone knows that I'm destined for the mines, which is why the merchant girls avoid me like the plague. The miner's daughters aren't any better, only looking for a quick flash in the pan before finding a good Seam boy like Hawthorne to settle down with. I didn't grow up like them. I don't belong anywhere. I have too few prospects for any self-respecting merchant girl, but I'm too 'pampered' for any self-respecting Seam one. No one wants to end up being a baker-turned-miner's wife.

Just thinking of spending seventy hours a week toiling in those dark, dusty caves sends my heart racing. I can already feel the coal dust settling in my lungs, the rumbling in my stomach from not having enough food. I know that it won't happen for a good few years, but it's been on my mind a lot lately. It's my parent's fault, really, for having three sons. The bakery won't support two families; it barely supports just one during the lean winter months. My father and brother will do everything they can to keep me out of the mines, but when (if) I survive my final Reaping, there really isn't a choice. The law says they'd have to pay me a real, apprenticeship wage once I'm out of school and the bakery just can't afford it.

It hasn't escaped my notice that all of my problems would be solved if Rye ended up getting Reaped today. Win or lose, he'd be out of the line for inheritance and I could take over the business that I love so dearly. I hate myself a little every time this thought crosses my mind. I shouldn't wish the Hunger Games on anyone, much less my own brother. It's not his fault he's older, but he doesn't love the bakery like I do. Of all my father's sons, I'm by far the best baker, and I can't help but feel the injustice of it all. I'll inherit nothing, just because I'm the youngest son. Maybe it would be better if I was reaped instead. It'd be better to die a quick death than the painful, drawn out one of a miner.

I lay there for an hour, images of coal dust and lethal tributes dancing through my troubled mind before I finally give up any hope of further sleep. I'm wide awake now, might as well put myself to work. Tossing on a random set of clothes, I head downstairs and make my way to the kitchen. I can see the faint, grey light of pre-dawn peaking through the windows as I busy myself with my normal routine. There's no school or work today, but the ovens still need to be cleaned and it's almost guaranteed that Katniss and Hawthorne will show up this morning looking to trade whatever they managed to hunt this morning.

I'm covered in charcoal and flour by the time I clean the ovens and get them lit for this morning's baking. I hear movement upstairs, most likely my father getting ready for the day. My mom is going through one of her bad spells, and I can't help but be thankful that I won't have to listen to her vicious monologue today. I wish that I could hate her, but she's still my mom. It's a well-known secret that she used to beat us before the cancer hit. Even on her death bed she plagues us; her medicine is expensive, spending every coin of profit that passes through the bakery.

The rest of the morning passes fairly quickly. My dad is the first one up, helping me with today's bread. Eventually Rye graces us with his presence. Dad sets him working on the books, a job he's done pretty well since my mom got sick. It's a skill he'll need once he finally gets married. Sienna will probably take it over eventually, but for now it's Rye's duty. My dad and I do the majority of the baking, while Rye works the front counter, the books, picking up shipments and making deliveries.

Katniss and Hawthorne show up a couple hours before the Reaping, knocking on the small back door that leads to the dingy, muddy yard out back. They don't have to anymore. It's been more than a year since my mom actually worked the bakery, but District 12's resident poachers have been using the back door for so long that it would be weird for everyone involved if they came in through the front. I can't imagine Katniss or Hawthorne slinging dead animals onto the front counter. My dad gives them two loaves of bread for a squirrel and a pouch of blueberries. I'll probably bake the berries into muffins tomorrow.

It hurts a little that she won't meet my gaze, letting Hawthorne do all the talking, but it's nothing out of the ordinary. She never even looks at me outside of the three or four nights a week that she climbs the tree outside my bedroom window. I tried talking to her in school once, but her harsh glare sent me away before I could even open my mouth. She didn't show up for our evening encounters for a week after that. I understand her need for privacy, but it hurts that she reacts so strongly to being seen with me.

About an hour before the Reaping, my dad shuts down the ovens and we all get dressed in our best clothes. My crisp, snow white shirt is tight across my chest and shoulders. I have to roll up the sleeves because they're a little short, but it looks nice enough tucked into my khaki trousers. I pull on a pair of slightly scuffed dress shoes, double knotting the frayed laces. If I get reaped, the last thing I want to do is trip over an untied shoe lace on my way to the stage.

As an afterthought, I walk over to my desk, rifling through my sketch books. After a moment of searching, I find the drawing I want. It's my favorite picture of Katniss. Her legs are crossed as she sits on my windowsill, looking up at me through her long lashes. She's wearing a soft smile, her eyes filled with emotion as one hand plays with the long braid draped over one shoulder. It's the picture I look at whenever I feel insecure about our relationship and her feelings towards me. Anyone who can look at me like that has to have deeper feelings for me... right? I carefully tear it from the sketch book, making sure I don't rip it. If I end up in the arena, I want this picture of her to be my District token. I fold it and slide it into my back pocket, just in case, before hustling down the stairs to join Rye and my dad.

Dad slices up a fresh loaf of hearty bread and a quarter wheel of cheese. On a normal day, we only eat the stale stuff that hasn't sold, but Reaping Day isn't a normal day. After our light meal we leave and join the solemn throng heading towards the square.

Despite the small size of our town, the square is positively massive, able to hold the majority of the eight thousand people living in the district. Most of them bare the olive coloring and raven hair so easily found in the Seam. My mother used to say that they've spent so long wallowing in coal dust that it seeped into their skin, but my genetics class taught me better. Darker colors were more dominant traits than lighter ones, and the small stream of 'Townies' like myself that found themselves working the mines were too few to change the overall makeup of the Seam.

"Good luck, boys," my dad says, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. He pulls each of us in for a crushing hug. I dodge out of the way when he tries to ruffle my hair. He goes off to join Barley in the crowds surrounding the potential tributes. No one in my class makes too much of an effort to greet me. I don't blame them; there's no point in getting too close to someone with no prospects.

After checking in, I wish Rye a half-hearted 'good luck' and make my way towards the rest of the sixteen year old boys. We're roped off by age, everyone facing the stage erected by the side of the Justice Building. Two glass bowls sit prominently at the fore of the structure, each filled with thousands of white, folded slips of paper. My gaze is immediately drawn to the one on the left. My girlfriend's name is printed neatly on twenty of the slips filling the massive glass bowl. I don't know what I'd do if she was Reaped. Just thinking about it sends my heart racing.

I take my place, trying to ignore the fretful whispers around me and fighting the urge to look for Katniss. She wouldn't appreciate me staring at her in public. I do see Hawthorne's large frame a couple rows ahead of me. He's with the eighteens, and ,surprisingly enough, joking with Rye. I had no idea that the two of them were friendly.

Eventually, after what seems like an age, Mayor Undersee steps up onto the stage, joined by District 12's escort, Effie Trinket, the quintessential Capitolite. Her wig, makeup, and accessories are all a putrid shade of orange that clashes horribly with her maroon dress. She looks even more ridiculous than last year, when she outfitted herself in a horrible bloody crimson. She smiles brightly at us, and her excited gaze meets mine for a moment. I wonder if she knows that she's arguably the second most despised person in the District, second only to President Snow. It's her job to reap the kids here in 12, but does she have to be so damn happy about it?

Haymitch Abernathy, our only living victor, stumbles along behind the rest of the officials, half supported by a white uniformed Peace Keeper. His dark hair is matted, uncut and greasy, hanging limply and falling into his unshaven face. He brings a half empty bottle of liquor to his lips, his throat bobbing several times. I can't help but be impressed by his ability to chug the swill they make down in the Hob, District 12's black market. He hides the bottle behind his chair as the cameras start to roll. Haymitch's drinking is as well-kept a secret as Katniss's hunting, which means not at all, but technically alcohol is banned here in 12. While no one in 12 cares, the Capitol definitely would. Abernathy wouldn't get in trouble, since he's a former Victor, but his supplier would probably find themselves whipped, at the very least.

I tune out the Mayor's opening speech; it's the same every year and I could probably recite it myself. Afterwards, Effie prances forward in her ridiculous high heels. "Welcome, welcome, to the 74th Hunger Games!" She clasps her hands together tightly, as if she's unable to contain her anticipation. "It's so exciting to see you all!"

She's undeterred by the crowd's silence, mincing her way towards the left side of the stage with a bubbly "Ladies first!" My chest constricts as I watch her too-long, orange lacquered nails digging through the bowl. I wonder if she's taking her time just to torture us. Finally, she finds the slip she wants and prances back to center stage. She unfolds the small strip of paper, her nails making the job more difficult than it should be, before leaning towards the microphone.

"Lillian Evans," she states clearly, and I let out a sigh of relief, and I'd feel guilty if I was the only one. Everyone here has family, friends, or loved ones in that bowl. Surprisingly, no one steps forward after the name is called. I have no idea who Lillian Evans is, so she must be younger than me. Most of the girls my age and older had spent time trying to capture Rye's attention.

Eventually, the Peace Keepers drag a small wisp of a girl forward from the twelves section. She's sobbing uncontrollably. As I get a better look at her I can't help but feel sorry for the girl. She looks a lot like Katniss did at that age, her dark hair in twin braids down her back. She doesn't look twelve, and is obviously malnourished. If I had to guess, I would say she's no older than ten. The Peace Keepers drag her kicking and screaming to the stage. As I see her olive skin and grey eyes I'm forcibly reminded of a night five years ago.

 _It was just after sunset, a little after curfew, when I'd first spoken to Katniss. I'd noticed her long before that, but I'd been too much of a coward to talk to her. I'd just finished a custom order for the mayor. He'd requested two of our most expensive loaves and a dozen strawberry muffins. I'd just placed them on the counter by the oven when I heard my mother screaming at someone on the back porch, though I couldn't tell who by her deranged shouts. Standing on my tiptoes, I'd peeked through the window above the sink to see Katniss Everdeen trudging away despondently from our trash cans._

 _I had known that she'd been having a rough time of it since her dad was killed in the mines, but if she was rooting through our garbage she must be pretty bad off. I saw her every day; how had I missed how thin she was? She crumpled to a heap beneath our apple tree, unwilling or unable to stand. In that moment, I made a decision that would change my life forever. I hastily grabbed the mayor's bread from the pan beside the oven, scorching them on one side. I was careful only to burn the outside while leaving the hearty, nut-filled bread in the middle untouched._

 _When my mother saw the expensive bread ruined, she really lost it. Already irritated from her encounter with the 'Seam brat,' she didn't say anything, just backhanded me upside the head as hard as she could. I fell into the still hot pan on the counter, burning my left hand and forehead. I tripped to the ground, but my mother heaved me up by the collar and started shouting at me. I was in too much pain to understand more than, "Feed it to the pigs, you useless whelp!" My plan was successful, though I'd paid for it dearly._

 _The cool rain soothed my burns as I stepped outside and made a deliberate show of tearing the burnt section from one of the loaves. My mother stomped up the stairs, no doubt to complain to my father about the worthless trash he'd raised, but I looked over my shoulder just in case. The coast clear, I sprinted towards the tree that still sheltered the broken, starving girl that I'd loved for as long as I could remember. I huddled over the bread as I ran, protecting it from the pouring rain._

 _She looked up as I approached, and my heart shattered at the sadness in those gray eyes. She'd given up hope. I knelt beside her, ignoring the mud and water, pressing the bread into her hands. It was worth the beating and the burns to see hope find its way back into her features. "I'm... I'm sorry it's not more."_

 _She didn't say anything for a long moment, just stared at me like I was some prince in a fairy tale. Her gaze ghosted over the burns and bruise forming on my face before croaking out a single word. "Why?"_

" _It was the right thing to do," I lied, though looking back, it was probably more true than I thought then. I don't think that I would have let anyone starve if I could have helped it, even if I hadn't been desperately in love with them._

 _She didn't say anything more. My mother was shouting her way down the stairs, telling me that I'd better be back to work. I ran back to the bakery, anticipating a second beating for dirtying her floors. I couldn't help but look back at Katniss before stepping inside, but she was already gone._

The click of Effie's impossibly high heels bring me forcibly to the present. I focus on the stage, and I take a deep breath when she starts digging through the boys' bowl. After a moment of searching, she brandishes a small slip of paper and walks back towards the microphone. I've already got a sinking feeling; my gut's telling me that I won't like the name on written on the slip in her carefully manicured fingers.

"Rye Mellark."

My heart leaps into my throat, blocking the shout of disbelief that threatens to rip its way out of my mouth. A myriad of feelings rush through me. Shock, that a boy with only seven slips would get chosen. Sadness, as I'm reminded that he's going to die before marrying his sweetheart and seeing his child. Anger, that the Capitol is going to rip Rye and Sienna from each other just as they'd found happiness. But most of all, I feel guilty. As irrational as it is, I can't help but think about the small thoughts that had circled my mind since I'd realized that I would have to work the mines. I can't help but feel like this is my fault, that my uncharitable feelings toward my brother led to Effie Trinket sentencing my brother to die.

I watch Rye walk towards the stage, stumbling slightly on the first step. No one laughs. His face is twisted in shock and grief. He knows that he's going to die. He knows that he's leaving Sienna unwed with a child. I glance towards her now, though I don't want to witness her anguish. To my surprise, she's not looking at my brother, but at me. Tears stream from her cerulean eyes as her hopeful gaze rests firmly on mine, and it only takes a moment for me to realize what she's asking me to do.

As much as I want to hate her for asking this of me, I know she's right. Rye has a family, someone who loves him and a child that's counting on him. He's been groomed to take over the bakery. He has friends who care about him. He's needed. I'm not. No one will miss me if I die, except maybe my dad and Katniss. My dad has two other sons to keep him company, and Katniss has Hawthorne and Prim. There's only one real option here. I step forward, clearing my throat as I raise my hand. Sienna's eyes flash with gratitude, and I don't think I've hated anyone as much as I hate her in this moment. She shouldn't thank me, not for this.

"I volunteer as Tribute!" My voice comes out crisp and clear, just I'd hoped.

You could hear a pin drop. Even Effie Trinket is stunned into silence. The rest of the sixteens edge away from me, as if I'm carrying some disease. I ignore them, keeping my gaze firmly on my brother, who hasn't seemed to recover from the initial shock of being reaped. The crowd parts as I walk calmly towards the center aisle and stride as confidently as I can towards the stage. If I'm going to die, I'm not going to do it with my tail between my legs. I won't let the Capitol see how terrified I am, how much I'm already regretting my impulsive decision.

Sienna tries to tell me 'Thank you' as I pass, but I didn't do it for her. I did it for my brother. I did it for my niece or nephew. I did it for the bakery. I take the steps one at a time, paying close attention so I don't trip like Rye. As I mount the stage, I can see Abernathy's dark eyes boring into mine, as if I'm some sort of puzzle he can't quite understand. He doesn't seem nearly as intoxicated as he did minutes ago. Effie's mouth is still wide open. She'd better close it before she swallows too much of the polluted District 12 air. My brother takes an unconscious step backwards as I walk past him, our eyes meeting for the briefest of moments before I position myself next to Effie and the microphone.

I clear my throat, and Effie finally seems to collect herself. Her face immediately splits into a wide grin. "We've never had a volunteer from District 12! What's your name?"

"Peeta. Peeta Mellark," I reply, and I'm glad that my voice doesn't crack. I'm carefully avoiding looking at the female sixteens, at Katniss, mostly because I don't know what I her reaction will be. It would hurt to see her beautiful face stricken with grief, but it'd also hurt if she didn't have any reaction at all. I don't know which one would be worse, and I'm too much of a coward to find out.

"I'd bet my buttons that that's your brother," Effie says smugly, and I feel like choking her. No shit. We look exactly alike and share the same last name. Instead of throttling the life out of the annoying woman, I nod my head just a fraction of an inch. "Didn't want your big brother to hog all the glory? Did you want to step out of his shadow?"

Unwillingly, my eyes find Katniss in the crowd, and she's not sad or impassive. She's furious, angrier than I've ever seen her. She's glaring daggers at Effie, Rye and Sienna in turn. If looks could kill, they would be bleeding out in front of the entire nation. As her fiery gaze finally meets mine, I give her my best apologetic look.

"It was the right thing to do," I say firmly, hoping that she understands. I know that I've mentioned Rye's upcoming nuptials in a feeble attempt to get her to agree to accompany me to the toasting. She quickly shot that hope down before I'd even voiced it. Hopefully she still remembers. After a moment, her steely eyes soften.

"Well, let's hear it for Peeta Mellark, the male Tribute for District 12!" Effie squeals, clapping her hands like a child. No one else claps. Katniss, her grey eyes still firmly resting on me, lifts three fingers to her lips then raises them high above her head. Tears sting my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. Her action means more to me than anything she could have possibly said. It's an old symbol, seldom used in our District anymore. It's a sign of admiration. It's for honoring a fallen loved one. It means goodbye.

The rest of the crowd slowly follows her example, and before I know it the entire district is honoring me. The tears that I've been fighting are welling on my eyelids. If I let myself blink, they'd start coursing down my cheeks and I don't think that I could stop crying if started now.

Thankfully, Haymitch Abernathy provides a much needed distraction, stumbling his way towards me and throwing his arm over my shoulder. It's difficult not to gag at the cloud of liquor that surrounds his wiry frame. "I like this one! He's got... spunk! More than you! More than any of you!" For a moment, he starts teetering off the stage, but I have the presence of mind to grab the back of his shirt and keep him to his feet. His eyes, suddenly lucid, flash with annoyance for the slightest of seconds before dimming again into his drunken haze. He stumbles back, comically landing on his rear.

He's faking it, I realize. If I hadn't seen that brief moment of clarity in his grey eyes, I would have never believed it, but the 'town drunk' show is just an act. My mind starts whirring at a million miles a second as I try to figure out why. Effie instructs me to shake Lillian Evans's hand, and it breaks my heart how tiny her dainty fingers are and how easily it fits into mine. There's no way that this little girl is twelve years old.

After the mayor reads the Treaty of Treason, the ceremony is over and I'm forcibly taken inside the Justice Building and shoved roughly into a small room. The only furniture inside is a small table and a single chair, both cheaply made and unpainted. The Capitol, in all its bountiful mercy, has granted me an entire hour to say goodbye to my loved ones.

Almost right away, a Peace Keeper leads my dad, Rye and Sienna into the room, shouting "Five minutes!" before slamming the door behind them. My dad immediately crushes me into a tight hug.

"Peet... I'm so sorry," Rye is sobbing uncontrollably into Sienna's shoulder.

"It was the right thing to do," I repeat numbly. I don't really want to talk to either of them right now. Why is _he_ crying? He gets to live! Can't he put me first for once in his life and tell me that he believes in me? Can't he at least pretend that I'm not going to be dead in little more than a week? I try to quell the anger burning in my chest.

My dad steps away from me, his cheeks stained with tears. "I love you, son."

"I love you too, Dad."

Sienna seems out of place as she holds my brother. She keeps casting me fearful glances, one hand playing with her long, golden hair. I think that she's afraid that I'll tell Rye that she practically begged me to volunteer, which only raises my ire even further. I'm sacrificing my life for their marriage. Does she really think I'll put that same marriage in jeopardy by over shadowing it with my death? Maybe she's not as bright as I thought she was.

She looks like she wants to say something, but I cut her off with a glare. If she actually thanks me for this, I probably won't be able to keep myself from shouting. "I love you guys. Don't put off your toasting for me, okay?" I try to keep my voice level by reminding myself that none of this is their fault. The Capitol and its peoples' blood lust are the only things to blame. I chose this of my own free will. I could have let Rye get reaped and gone back to my normal life without the death sentence of the mines hanging over my head.

"That's time!" The Peace Keeper shouts through the door, pounding on the hard wood.

Dad clears his throat. "I'll tell your mother-"

"Don't bother," I snarl. My dad looks surprised at my tone; I've never raised my voice to him before, and I've certainly never bad mouthed my mother to anyone but Katniss. "She never loved me, and I certainly never loved her. I should thank her: She taught me how to endure pain. I'm sure that'll come in handy in the arena."

Before he can reply, the Peace Keepers are dragging them back through the door. It's only closed a moment before Madge Undersee comes striding in, her stylish blonde hair bouncing behind her. I'm surprised to see her; Madge and I have never been that close. She's more Katniss's friend than mine. I can't help but notice that the Peace Keepers aren't shoving her around. Privileges of being the mayor's daughter, I suppose.

"Oh, Peeta," she exclaims, throwing her arms around me.

"What are you doing here?" I blurt, unable to contain myself. "Not that it's not nice to see you..."

"I wanted to give you this," she says, pulling something from her pocket. She uncurls her fingers to reveal a solid gold pin. It's beautiful, a little smaller than my palm, featuring some type of bird with an arrow clasped in its beak. Clearing her throat, she clarifies. "It's a mockingjay. You're allowed to take a token to remind you of home..."

"I already have one," I say quietly, remembering the sketch weighing heavily in my pocket. I slip it out, cringing at the creases that somehow crinkled the page. After a moment's hesitation, I hand it to Madge. She unfolds it carefully, her blue eyes welling with sadness as she takes in the picture.

"You were Mystery Guy?" she asks quietly, her melodic voice barely above a whisper.

"Mystery Guy?"

She blushes prettily. "Well, when she started asking me about makeup tips I just assumed... She refused to talk about it, so I just started calling you Mystery Guy in my head."

"Makeup tips?" I laugh. Katniss and makeup are two things that I've never associated with each other. She doesn't need it, but I find it strangely comforting that she cared enough about my opinion of her to consider wearing it.

"I thought she was asking because of-" cuts herself off sharply.

"Hawthorne?" She nods solemnly, almost fearful at my reaction. "Don't be sure that she wasn't. I'm still not sure that she wasn't just using me for practice."

Madge gives me a severe look, her blue eyes flashing. "Katniss isn't like that. She wouldn't date you if she didn't care about you." She looks towards the door, and I wonder how much time we have.

Guilt twinges in my chest before sitting heavily in my gut. "I know," I say softly. "It's just... she's so hard to read. She's so closed off and I never have any idea what she's thinking." Madge places a hand on my cheek, trying to comfort me. It doesn't work. "If..." my voice cracks, but I clear my throat. "If I don't make it... will you tell her I love her?"

"Oh, Peeta," she says again, pulling me into another hug. "You've been mooning over Katniss since our first day of school. You can tell her yourself when you get back."

"But if I don't..."

"Then I'll tell her," she promises, handing back the sketch of her best friend. "Good luck out there, okay?" I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. "I'll see you soon."

"Thanks, Madge," I croak. "For everything. Sorry I couldn't take your gift."

"It's okay. Yours is better, anyway." Before I can ask her 'Better for what?' she's disappeared back through the door, closing it softly behind her. I realize that she had much more than the traditional five minutes.

I stare at the door, willing for Katniss to walk through, but I'm disappointed when pretty much every merchant kid my age trudges into the room. They're all 'well bred,' as Mom would say, with various shades of blonde hair and blue eyes. I try my best not to get annoyed with them, but they really have no right to be here. I was too toxic to hang out with at school, but now that I'm entering the games it seems like I've suddenly regained the lost popularity of my youth. Delly Cartwright's pretty face almost makes me lose my temper. Delly and I had been best friends throughout our entire childhood. She knew everything about me, every secret fear, but she'd gone with everyone else in the end. As my eventual fate became apparent, and there were magically no longer enough places at my usual lunch table, she'd given me a tearful, apologetic look as I slumped my way to sit by myself. I still remember Katniss's face, her brow furrowed with concern, as she witnessed me exile. It's sitting in one of my sketchbooks in my room.

Now, Delly is openly sobbing like the rest, and the hateful, fiery beast in my chest wants to tell her, to tell all of them, to leave. Taking a deep breath to calm myself, I force a winning smile on my face as I tell them all that I'll see them soon. Thankfully, their five minutes comes and goes and they're trooping away with slumped shoulders. Hypocrites. They're no better than the Capitol. They wouldn't have cared less if I'd died in the mines. Now that my death will be _interesting,_ well that changes _everything_.

The door opens again, and I can't keep the smile from my face as Katniss Everdeen walks briskly through. The Peace Keeper doesn't manhandle her, either, though I doubt it's for the same reasons as Madge. No one messes with Katniss, even the Peace Keepers. Her angry glare sends my grin fleeing in terror.

"Of all the stupid, ridiculous... volunteering for the Games?" She's enraged. Her grey eyes are flashing heatedly as she paces in front of me. "What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that my brother has a baby on the way with an unwed fiance," I reply, letting my anger tinge my voice. "He has people who will miss him." I can tell from her hurt look that she catches the silent _'and I don't'_ at the end.

" _I'll_ miss you," she says thickly, like she's trying to force the words from her throat. It's probably the nicest thing she's ever said to me, the closest I'll ever hear her get to saying those _other_ three little words. Her grey eyes focus on mine as she takes one of my large hands in both of hers. "Promise me you'll come back."

"You know I can't promise that," I say, unwilling to lie to her. I'll lie to anyone else, but not her.

"Then promise that you'll try. That you'll do everything you can to come back to me." There's a desperation written on her face that I haven't seen in five years.

I shake my head. "I won't let them change me, Katniss. I won't play their game. You've seen the Games... you have to do some pretty terrible things to win."

"Don't be an idiot," she snarls. "Don't die because of some stupid sense of morality! What good will it do you if you end up bleeding out in the arena?"

"So you don't mind if I murder a bunch of people? You've seen Haymitch! You've seen the victors that roll through here every year! The Games change you, and not for the better!"

"I don't care!" she shouts, fisting my shirt in her hands. Was it only last night that we were in a similar position? "I don't care what you have to do! I don't care if you have to kill all twenty three Tributes yourself! I don't care if you come home different, as long as you come home! Whatever happens after... we'll work through it _together_."

The words slip out of my mouth before I can stop them. "I didn't know you cared that much."

Her face briefly flickers with pain, before she presses her lips to mine. The kiss is so _Katniss_ , all barely restrained heat and carefully contained emotions. "Of course I care. You're my... my Peeta. I'm not... I'm not great with words, but I promise I'll do better. Just, please, come home."

I pull her into a tight hug, unable to look into her eyes as I ask my next question. "And you won't hate me? Even if it means killing twelve year old kids like Lillian?"

After a moment's hesitation, she nods against my chest. "Whatever it takes," she finally says, her voice muffled against my shirt. I can feel the tears soaking through the fabric.

"Okay."

"Promise me, Peeta."

I brush my lips softly against hers, reveling in what I know to be our last kiss. It's salty and sweet, and I pour every emotion that I never got to tell her into it. "I promise. Whatever it takes."


	2. Chapter 2

**Whatever It Takes**

 **by**

 **Justin Jossart**

 **A/N: I've had someone point out that Peter is OOC, which is true and intentional. He is harder, more confident. Canon Peeta, as much as I love him, would never be able to survive the trials I'm going to put him through. I tried to give some logical explanations for his OOCness: Harsher abuse from his mother, her sickness, his abandonment by his classmates and his inevitable future in the mines all could shape Peeta into a harder character. I'm still trying to keep Peeta as close to canon as I can. He still says and does all the 'nice guy' things, but his internal monologue will be different from what you may imagine.**

 **Also, as a side note, when I first read the Hunger Games, I always pictured Hayden Panettiere as Glimmer. Even now, after the movies, whenever I read the books or fanfiction I still cast her mentally as the girl from Season One of Heroes. That's the image I'm going with in my head while writing this story. I'm also making the District Four Careers more... menacing. The kids they got for the movie always threw me off. Four's supposed to be a Career district; why is their male Tribute the second smallest person in the games?**

 **Chapter Two: The Train**

My last visitor is a surprise. After Katniss leaves, it's a long time before my final guest makes his appearance. I should have expected him to come, if only to gloat that he'll be keeping Katniss company while I rot away in a pine box. I wonder if he'll spit on my grave.

"Mellark," Hawthorne says with a nod as he swaggers into the room.

"Hawthorne." He perches himself in the lonely chair at by the table, turning it around so it's facing backward. It looks almost child-sized beneath his large build and lanky limbs. I narrow my eyes and lean against the wall. "What do you want?"

He holds his hands up, palms out. "I come in peace," he says, trying to pacify me. His grey eyes look distracted as he tries to figure out what he wants to say. I keep silent. I'm sure as hell not going to make it any easier for him. "I came for Katniss."

"She already came."

"I've never seen her this upset," he muses, ignoring my clipped tone. "I could always tell, you know."

I blink, trying to catch up to the conversation. "Tell what?"

"That she came to see you. She'd be... lighter the next morning. Happier. Sometimes she'd even hum while we checked the snare lines. If you didn't know her, you would never be able to tell, but I always could." I can tell that it's difficult for him to say, and my worst fears are confirmed. Tall, handsome, best friend Gale Hawthorne is deeply in love with my girlfriend. The gnawing jealousy in my gut wonders if she feels something for him, too.

"I don't know what you want me to say."

"It's a real good thing you did for your brother," he mutters, running a hand through his short, dark hair. "This would be so much easier if you weren't such a nice guy." He looks me dead in the eyes. "You and I both know I love her. We both know that she's with you."

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. He runs his hands through his hair again before starting over. "I just want you to know that I won't make any moves on her until after the Games. I won't badmouth you or try to push her away while you're fighting for your life. I can't say I'll be singing your praises, but..." he trails off for a moment, trying to find the words. "What you're doing, where you're going... you don't need any distractions. You shouldn't have to worry about some guy trying to steal your girl while you're gone."

"I appreciate that," I say, forcing politeness into my voice, though inside I'm seething. He acts like he's doing me some grand favor by not moving in on Katniss. What a swell guy. My first thought is to punch him right in his perfect jaw, but I manage to contain that particular impulse. For a moment, I consider letting him have every piece of verbal abuse that I can think of, but I instead decide to take the gesture how he meant it. I remind myself that he's trying to be a nice guy.

"Look after her, Gale," I tell him, every word killing me. "Don't... don't let her sit in front of the Games all day worrying. And after... If I don't make it back, make sure she doesn't..." I don't need to finish that particular thought. We both know what happened to her mother after Henley Everdeen died.

"I won't," he promises.

"Thanks."

If he had just left after that, he and I might have had a chance to understand each other. We might have even become friends, in a way. But Hawthorne, being Hawthorne, couldn't just let it go. "I don't think she will, though," he smirks. "I mean, you guys are just a fling, right?"

Those careless words, so casually uttered, snap my fragile self control. The rage that has been building in my chest all afternoon, between the Reaping, Sienna, my old friends and now the guy going after my girl is finally unleashed. Gale Hawthorne has, unknowingly, laid bare all my secret insecurities about my relationship with Katniss. "We've been dating for three years, Hawthorne," I snap, my voice low and dangerous. "It's more than just a fling. Go ahead, keep trying to break us up. You won't be able to talk her into anything she doesn't already want to do."

"Fair enough," the taller man replies, his eyes narrow as he tries to keep the conversation polite. "But I still won't do it. We have real honor in the Seam. Going after a girl while her boyfriend's in the Games is just a shitty thing to do."

"Going after a guy's girlfriend is a shitty thing to do, period," I reply fiercely. "The Games have nothing to do with it." Hawthorne may be bigger than me, and he may have the inside track being Katniss's closest friend, but he should know better than to get into a verbal sparring match. I can talk circles around this guy. "But hey, I guess us 'pampered Townies' have a stricter 'Code of Honor' than yours."

Hawthorne rises to his feet, the small chair tilting and clattering to the floor. He's towering over me now, his grey eyes sparking with barely controlled anger. He's trying to intimidate me, but I have two older brothers, and while neither is as tall as the future miner standing in front of me, both are broader. Rye would steal this guy's lunch with barely a scratch. Hell, I'm not sure if _I_ couldn't take him. I've been one of the best wrestlers in the district for years. This confrontation is a long time coming and I will not, _can_ not, back down.

"That's rich, coming from you," he spits, finally abandoning all pretenses of civility.

A mirthless chuckle escapes my lips. "I've _never_ taken what's yours. Katniss was the one who started 'visiting' me." I place heavy emphases on the word 'visiting.' I'm playing on his fears, now, and a spike of guilt cuts through my anger. I'm certain that Hawthorne secretly tosses and turns thinking about what she and I do when she climbs into my room. I'm equally certain that she'd never tell him in a million years what we actually get up to, best friend or not.

His jaw tightens, causing the muscles in his neck to bulge, but I'm not even close to finished yet. "Don't pretend like you've ever had a claim on her. She made her choice a long time ago. Move on... or don't. I don't care either way. You can wallow after her for the rest of your life, but don't you dare come in here and act like you're some hero for taking a break from trying to fuck my girlfriend!" He gives me a rough shove, pushing me against the wall. I can see the veins pop in his forearms as his fists clinch. "Careful, Hawthorne. Striking a Tribute is death by hanging, last I checked, and it'll take more than a turkey to get Cray to look the other way."

"You better hope you die in that arena, Mellark," he snarls, his eyes flashing as he pokes me in the chest with a calloused, meaty finger. "Cause if you don't, I'll make you wish you had."

My mocking laugh is cold enough to freeze water. "Really? I'm supposed to be scared of you after fighting twenty three trained killers to the death?" He barely reacts to my taunt, but I can tell I've given him pause. "Besides, you won't hurt me for the same reason I'd never hurt you."

"And why's that?"

"Because Katniss would never forgive whoever threw the first punch. And I love her a lot more than I hate you. I'll even give you a free shot when I come back, if you're stupid enough to take it." I now have a new motivation for coming back from the arena, as if my promise to Katniss wasn't enough. If I didn't hate Hawthorne so much, I'd thank him.

We glare at each other for a few seconds before the door bursts open. The Peace Keeper looks between us then to the fallen chair. He raises a brow as he turns to me. "Anything I should know about?"

I could get Hawthorne in trouble, if I wanted. Even shoving me against the wall is enough to warrant a few lashes. For the smallest of moments I consider it, but instead take a deep breath and shake my head. "No. He was just leaving."

Hawthorne walks to the door at the Peace Keeper's behest, calling back to me over his shoulder. "Good luck in the arena, Mellark. You're going to need it."

He leaves quickly in an obvious attempt at having the last word, but I don't care. My anger has already dissipated. I feel like a fool. I handled the situation poorly. Hawthorne had come in here trying to do the right thing, as far as he was concerned, and I'd thrown it back in his face. I'd taunted him, pushed him into a verbal battle he really had no chance of winning. He doesn't have the quick wit forged in the fires of older brothers and merchant classmates.

Besides, I hold all the cards at this point. Katniss is with me. She'd never let anything happen with Hawthorne. She's classy like that. Righting the chair and slumping into its hard, wooden surface, I pull my District token from my pocket again, gazing at Katniss's face. She would never have looked at me with so much emotion if she wanted to be with him.

After a while, the Peace Keepers barge through the door again, jostling me to my feet and nearly making me drop the sketch. I hastily fold it and put it back in my pocket; I can't lose it before I've even gotten into the arena. I can hear Lillian sobbing again as they hustle us to a waiting car, roughly pushing us inside. The tiny girl ends up sprawled on top of me. She immediately scrambles across the shiny black leather seat as far away from me as she can, cowering against the far door.

I know I shouldn't console her. I mean to win the 74th Hunger Games, and I can't do that while playing nice with a little girl who's probably going to die in the first Bloodbath. I have to focus on my game. I need sponsors, which means the Capitol needs to like me. I need to charm them. I need to be confident.

Most of all, I need to make them think I can win. Making friends with Lillian would be seen as a liability. Too many strong tributes have died trying to defend weaker ones from the Careers, and I can't afford to repeat their mistakes. I made a promise to Katniss that I would do whatever it takes, which means I'll have to beat down my 'nice guy' instincts for the next month. I can only hope that I won't kill them altogether.

But looking at this girl's tear-streaked face that so reminds me of a younger Katniss throws all of that out the window.

"It's okay," I lie. Nothing about this is okay.

She doesn't say anything, only looks up at me with those quivering grey eyes.

"I won't hurt you." I hope I'm not lying. Despite my promise to Katniss, I don't think I can bring myself to harm Lillian. Something in the darkest reaches of my subconscious tells me that if I'm the one that kills her, I'll never come back from it. I can justify killing the Careers from Districts 1, 2, and 4. I could even justify killing other people my age. But killing a little kid from my District will break me. I can only hope that it doesn't come to that.

"My name's Peeta," I try again, keeping my tone as friendly as possible. At this point I'm talking to her like she's a timid animal that I don't want to bolt. It's the same tone I use when Katniss is upset. She still says nothing, only curling herself tighter as she hugs her knees to her chest. Giving it up as a bad job, I lean back in my seat and watch the buildings slide by as we approach the train station.

She starts screaming bloody murder when the Peace Keepers haul us out of the vehicle, presenting us to the cameras again. There's quite a few people milling around to see us off. My old acquaintances are there again, and I can see Delly among them. She looks despondent, which only serves to make me angry. My family is with them. I wonder if my dad and brothers know that I want nothing to do with the 'friends' who abandoned me when I was no longer a convenient friend to have.

Barley is still absent; I assume that he's at the bakery. I don't wonder why he didn't bother to say goodbye. Bar was always Mom's favorite, her eldest golden child. He never suffered beneath her hand like Rye and I did. My eldest brother loves my mother dearly, despite the abuse she inflicted on her younger sons. I don't know if I'll ever forgive him for siding with her. Older siblings look out for their younger ones, right? No one would dare lay a finger on Primrose Everdeen because Katniss would come down upon them with fire and brimstone, burning them and everything they loved to ash.

Near the smattering of blonde hair and blue eyes, a dark braid catches my eye. Katniss is still in her Reaping dress, a soft blue number that compliments her olive skin and mahogany hair nicely. Little Primrose is with a group of twelves, all of them crying over the loss of their friend and classmate. My heart breaks as I watch them, and my resolve to do what's necessary falters. Katniss demands my attention, her moon light eyes boring into me, filled with an emotion that I can't quite place. She flicks her gaze briefly in Lillian's direction, then back at me.

" _Whatever it takes,"_ she mouths. She's reminding me of my promise. I give her a nod, though we both know I'm lying. She knows me too well. She scowls as the pictures are taken and we're dragged aboard the waiting train. I commit her determined face to memory, knowing that I'll want to sketch this moment later. If there is a later.

The train is simultaneously everything I imagined and nothing like I'd thought. I had expected something like Madge's house, expensive yet classy. This... this blew 'expensive' out of the water, and 'classy' had given way to an ostentatious display of wealth. The furnishings in the first car alone could have fed the entirety of District 12 for a month. I'm frankly disgusted. All the fixtures are solid gold, there are silver inlays in the table and chairs, and I think the crystals hanging from the chandelier are diamonds.

"Dinner will be served in an hour," Effie says, seemingly unaffected by the disgusting show of opulence. She leads us through to the next car, which boasts a hallway with four identical doors. "You will be expected to be on time, appropriately dressed, and freshly cleaned. Miss Evans, your room is the first door on the right. Mister Mellark, yours is the first door on the left."

Lillian nods mutely, her face still streaked with tears, and disappears into her room without a word. I really hope that she pulls herself together before the Games, though I'm pretty certain she's going to be 'canon-bait' for the annual Cornucopia Bloodbath. I thank Effie before entering my assigned quarters.

It's more of the same. I don't know how they crammed so much wealth and technology into one room. My bed here is bigger than both my brother's and mine back home put together. Stripping down to my underwear, I head towards my en suite bathroom.

It takes me about fifteen minutes of my allotted hour just to figure out how to use the shower. Back home, we had one knob that controlled everything from water heat to pressure, but here... there's about a dozen knobs and four shower heads. I don't really know what most of the buttons do, and the weird pink foam ejected forcefully from holes in the wall creeps me out, but eventually I get a steady stream of hot water from one of the heads.

The warm shower and steamy air relieves aches and pains I didn't know that I'd been carrying. Back home, we had to carefully ration the hot water so everyone would have some, leaving little time to bask in the shower. My room aboard the train must have its own water heater because its still going even after my fingers and toes start to prune.

The whole day has been a surreal dream, first the Reaping, then volunteering for my elder brother, then saying goodbye to Katniss in the Justice Building. I keep thinking I'm going to wake up and realize that I've been living some psychological nightmare, but a voice in the back of my mind keeps telling me that this is real. I'm going into the Games next week. I'm never going to see Katniss again.

The thought opens a gaping wound in my chest, and I have to lean against the shower's door to keep from falling over. I'm never going to see Katniss again. I'm never going to get to tell her how much I love her. I'm never going to see what our children would have looked like. I feel like there's this whole other life that I'm never going to get the chance to live. Even if I win the Hunger Games and go back to District 12, I'll never be the same. I'll have children's blood on my hands.

Who am I joking? Despite my promise to Katniss, I have no chance of winning the Games. I'm not a fighter. Sure, I'm the best wrestler in the District, but that means next to nothing in the arena. Wrestling has rules, it has structure. The arena doesn't. The action won't stop if some Career puts me in an illegal hold or kicks me in the groin. The Tributes from Districts 1, 2, and 4 have been training for this for over a decade. They'll have access to weapons and skills far beyond what I'll be able to procure in a short three days of 'training.'

Katniss would do well in the arena, I'm sure, especially if she got her hands on a bow. She knows what was edible, what is poisonous, how to light a fire, how to set a snare... she'd be unstoppable. The Careers would be at her mercy. All I know how to do is wrestle, throw around flour sacks, and decorate cakes.

I wonder if I should focus on survival or weapons during my 'training.' I'm sure that swinging a mace or a club can't be _that_ hard, right? Isn't it basically like swinging a lethal stick? I could even find a way to add knives to my wrestling maneuvers. Then again, weapons training doesn't really mean anything if I starve to death. The Careers always take the Cornucopia, so I won't get any food there. On the other hand, surviving without knowing how to defend myself is just delaying the inevitable. Perhaps I should spend one day on survival training and two days on weapons training.

I let my head thunk against the shower wall. The water is still surprisingly hot, showing no signs of cooling. What I wouldn't give to have this water heater back at the bakery. I force myself to think. What are my skills? What am I missing? There _has_ to be a way to survive the Career Pack.

The biggest problem is that the Careers team up to kill the weaker Tributes. I might... _might_... be able to take a Career one on one if there were no weapons in play, but it's _never_ one on one. It's the same every year. They kill a bunch of the weakest players in the Bloodbath, then gang up against anyone who might stand a chance of killing one of them. While they hunt the stronger Tributes, they'll clean up most of the weaker ones.

Eventually, after all the true threats are neutralized, the Careers will attack each other in what's called the 'Second Bloodbath' until only two are left standing. They'll split up, kill the rest of the Tributes, then give the Capitol an epic finale near the Cornucopia. The winner goes back home, the loser bleeds out on the arena floor.

I think back to every time I've seen a non-Career win the Games. Very few come to mind. Most of the time when it's not a Career, the winning Tribute has some unforeseen skill that neither the Careers nor the Game Makers prepared for. Katniss would be a prime example. A survivalist able to live off the land and loose deadly accurate arrows would slaughter the Careers. I remember hearing about a guy from District 3 who set up an electrical trap that killed all six careers on the first day. I don't have any deadly skills like that. I don't stand out in any way.

Or do I?

I'm very good at convincing people to see things my way. It's a talent that I'm sure many a Capitol politician wishes he had, but I've been told I have a 'Golden Tongue.' Could I use that in some way? Perhaps I could rally the other 'weak' Tributes and we could all team up against the Careers. If there's enough real threats outside of the Career Pack, we could give an Anti-Career Alliance a go.

I know that convincing a bunch of kids to willingly do battle against the Careers is a long shot. My brother says I'm like Dad, that I could sell coal dust to a miner, but am I really _that_ convincing? Thinking about it, I begin to doubt the plan before it's even fully formed. It's more likely that once one or two of my allies get slaughtered, the rest will scatter. They're kids, not soldiers. Pretty words might get them motivated, but once blood hits the ground, all bets would be off.

By now, my head is starting to hurt. These are the types of questions that Mentors are there to answer. Despite the warm shower and thick, steam-filled air, my blood runs cold as I realize that I'm going to need Haymitch to get off his drunk ass and help me. If my plan is going to work, I'm going to need sponsors. A lot of sponsors. I'm going to have to be the most charming person the Capitol has ever seen.

I turn the water off and step out of the shower. First order of business: Sober up Haymitch Abernathy. I need to know if the ideas floating through my head are even feasible. Hopefully he'll be at dinner. After toweling myself dry, I dig through the wardrobe and find a nice Henley shirt and jeans, then slip on a pair of provided hiking boots. Everything is exactly my size, which is more than a little creepy.

To my dismay, Haymitch doesn't show up for dinner. Lillian shows up halfway through, not saying a word as she shovels copious amounts of food into her no-doubt starving stomach. I try to tell her to slow down, that she'll only make herself sick, but I don't think she even hears me.

The food is delicious and rich, and despite my warnings to Lillian, I find myself eating far more than I normally would. I think that Katniss would really enjoy the lamb stew, and I _know_ that she'd enjoy the hot chocolate. Despite my suddenly voracious appetite, I still maintain a semblance of table manners, to Effie's delight. She makes one or two snide, leading comments to Lillian, and it takes every ounce of my self control not to snap at her. I need Effie on my side. A good escort can win a Tribute just as many sponsors as a Mento

"Where's Haymitch?" I ask politely as I polish off a piece of chocolate cake. Little Lillian has already retired to her room. She looked rather green as she left, and I have no doubt that she's puking up all the food she just devoured.

Effie's reaction is immediate and suspicious. Her eyes dart towards the next car before she smiles brightly at me, letting me know that he's 'taking a nap.' It's the lamest euphemism I've ever heard for 'getting blackout drunk,' and I had Rye for a brother. I don't bother to call her on it. I'll give Haymitch tonight, but tomorrow he and I are going to have a serious talk. We'll be arriving at the Capitol tomorrow afternoon, and I need a plan in place. I already have the beginnings of one, but I need Haymitch to know if it's viable, because I'm already doubting it.

Effie leads me into the train car past the one where we sleep; the Reaping recaps are about to come on, and I need to see the competition before I make any concrete plans. Effie tries to collect Lillian on the way, but we can hear her hurling from the hallway. My escort eventually gives it up as a bad job, and we sit in silence to watch the recaps.

The Reaping for District 1 is different than usual. Normally, there are so many volunteers that they have to edit the footage, but when Glimmer, the female Tribute, is called, not a single girl offers to take her place. The boy Tributes are more in line with what I've come to expect from the Career Districts. Over a dozen young men try to volunteer, and I have no idea how they managed to sort it all out, but eventually they end up with Marvel. Marvel is slimmer than I expected from a District 1 Career. Most of the time, the guys they send to the arena are nothing short of huge. Marvel still seems athletic, but he's not muscular in the way I anticipated. I wonder what makes him deadly. Is he good with knives? A bow? It's impossible to tell as he takes his place beside Glimmer.

Glimmer is beautiful. I guiltily find myself comparing her to Katniss, but it's really like comparing cookies to cupcakes. Both are delicious, in their own way. Katniss is dark and mysterious, nigh unreadable with big grey eyes and long, chestnut hair. Glimmer is everything the merchant girls back home wish they could be. She's self assured and confident, with golden blonde hair and bright, cerulean eyes. She's taller than most girls with generous curves, and I have to remind myself that she's a killer who won't hesitate to murder me in my sleep.

I feel bad for even looking at Glimmer in _that_ way. I have a girlfriend. A beautiful girlfriend that I've been madly in love with since I was five years old. Glimmer's just a pretty face that I might end up killing to get back to the girl I love. My hand finds the sketch of Katniss in my back pocket. Just touching it is enough to reassure me. I'm going to make it home for her. Whatever it takes.

The Tributes from District 2 are more what I expected. The girl, Clove, is petite but lethal-looking. It would be a mistake to underestimate her. She may not be big, but there's a look in her eyes that makes me shiver. Cato, on the other hand, is huge. He looks positively gigantic standing next to clove. Like Glimmer, he has blonde hair and blue eyes, but everything from his face to his biceps to his calves looks like they were chiseled from stone. He may look like a dumb brute, but his gaze sparkles with hidden cunning. He's going to be the guy to beat this year.

The District 3 Tributes seem pretty unremarkable. Both are small, both are young, and I don't think I have to worry about either of them. District 4, on the other hand... The girl, like Glimmer, is stunningly beautiful. My first reaction is that Ariel's red hair is dyed, but her eyebrows are the same crimson, so who knows? She has a well toned athlete's body, and she moves so gracefully you'd think she was dancing through water with every step.

District 4's boy Tribute, Erik, looks tough as well. He's not as broad as Cato, but he's just as tall. He's well built, standing upon the Reaping stage shirtless. The girls back home would sell their souls just to touch his washboard abs. I find myself reconsidering Cato as my primary threat in the Games. Erik seems just as deadly as the District 2 boy.

Districts 5 through 10 quickly toss out any hope I have of forming an Anti-Career Alliance. Almost all of them are just kids, underfed and tiny compared to the Careers. We could outnumber them ten to one and still get slaughtered. The boy from 10 even has a club foot.

Both Tributes from 7, though, give me pause. The boy seems shorter than me, but his forearms are bigger around than my neck. The rest of his stocky frame is equally muscled. The girl is much the same. She's probably the most muscular girl in the Games this year. They could be a formidable duo, capable of winning sponsors, if they weren't so homely. The boy's face is riddled with acne and his nose is off center, while the girl has the squished face of a pug.

The girl from District 11 breaks my heart. Her name is Rue, and she strongly reminds me strongly of Katniss's sister for some reason. She has the same doe eyes, the same aura of _goodness_ and I know right away that I will not, cannot, kill her. I'd slit my own throat first, my promise to Katniss be damned. I desperately hope it doesn't come to that.

Thresh, the male Tribute from 11, is the biggest guy I've ever seen in my life, and I grew up in a District with a lot of big, tough men who spend their days swinging pickaxes. Even Cato and Erik look tiny compared to the giant standing next to tiny Rue. I start to think that if I can recruit both of the Tributes from 7 and Thresh that we might have a chance at overpowering the Careers, but I realize quickly that it wouldn't work. The Careers will have supplies, weapons, the numbers and be well-fed. Even if we get the drop on them, their strength of numbers and training would overpower us in the end.

My own Reaping is... difficult to watch. Lillian's frantic sobs are no easier to bare the second time around. She's the only Tribute forcibly dragged up on stage. When Effie calls my brother's name, my heart involuntarily clenches until I remember that he's safe. He's safe at home. The cameras pick up Sienna's hopeful looks at me, causing my blood to boil. I still can't believe she so callously threw me to the wolves to save Rye. I'd always liked her; I was glad she was joining the family, but now... It's a good thing that I won't live long enough to tell her how much I hate her. Rye would never forgive me.

When I hear my own voice volunteering, I can't believe how confident I look. At the time, it was everything I could do not to piss myself, but you'd never know from looking at me. What's more, I don't look that out of place next to Cato, Erik and Thresh. I may not be as tall as them, but I'm just as built in my own way. Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith are calling me the 'Dark Horse' pick to win it all, whatever that means. I know that they're just adding drama, but it gives me a much needed boost of confidence.

They don't show Katniss's salute farewell.

After the broadcast, I turn off the television and look at Effie. She's been sitting there in silence, and I just now realize that she's been studying me the entire time. For a brief moment, I see past the ridiculous outfit and makeup and see a calculating woman before me, her eyes shining with intelligence. As soon as she realizes I'm studying her, her vapid expression returns and she starts fussing over me and shooing me off to bed, calling tomorrow a big, big, _big_ day.

I enter the bedroom car to find Haymitch passed out in a puddle of his own sickness. Fantastic. Effie is nowhere to be found, and with my luck he'll choke on his own vomit before he has a chance to help save my life.

"Well, shit," I say to no one in particular. I roll him over, trying not to gag at the putrid smell of liquor and puke roiling off him in waves. Doing my best not to touch his expelled bodily fluids, I half carry, half drag him to the room labeled "Abernathy, H." Cleaning him up is a slow, disgusting process, but I eventually get him showered and into bed. I make sure he's sleeping on his side, just in case he decides he needs to hurl in the middle of the night.

Exhausted, I make my way to my own room, shucking my clothes haphazardly to the floor of the compartment before flopping into bed. I tune out the part of my brain that tries to worry about Cato and Erik gutting me like one of Katniss's squirrels, falling into an uneasy sleep.

 _I was thirteen again. The tapping on my window made me jump like a frightened rabbit. What in the hell...? My room was on the second floor, how could anyone even get up here? I cautiously made my way to the window, peering out into the darkness. I don't_ see _anyone..._

" _Let me in." Katniss Everdeen's face appeared out of nowhere, nearly giving me a heart attack. Her stormy eyes are glaring at me balefully, almost as if it was_ my _fault she was sitting in the tree outside my window._

" _O- Okay," I replied dumbly, unable to process the unexpected turn of events. Even in my wildest dreams, I'd never dared hope that Katniss would visit my room in the middle of the night. I slid the window open, taking a large step back as she gracefully entered my room. I had dreams that started like this..._

" _Thank you," she said, her eyes meeting mine._

 _I was momentarily at a loss for words. "You're welcome?" What was she thanking me for? Letting her in?_

" _For the bread. Thank you," she clarifies, catching my confusion. Her chest was heaving; she trembled from head to toe. Was she scared of me? I didn't understand until she started taking off her shirt._

" _What are you doing?!" I hissed._

" _Paying you back," she said simply, standing there in her camisole after dropping her pants. "I owe you my life." She started moving towards me. She's still shaking like a leaf in a thunderstorm. I knew she didn't want to do this._

" _No." My voice is surprisingly firm. I immediately regretted the decision, but stood firm. "Not like this."_

 _She cocked her head, as if I was a puzzle she didn't understand. "I've seen you staring at me. Madge says you like me."_

" _She's right," I admit, a blush heating my cheeks. Was I so transparent that even Katniss Everdeen noticed my infatuation? "But not like this."_

" _Then tell me how to pay you back," she snarls, her eyes cold. She seems... embarrassed. I didn't think she expected me to turn her down. "I can't stand owing you anymore. It's all I can think about any time I see you."_

" _Can you... Can you put your clothes on?" I mumble. All the blood in my body is steadily rushing south, and it's getting hard to think. She complied, then perched herself on the edge of my bed. I tried not ogle one last glimpse of her olive skin while she put on her shirt... honest._

 _I sat next to her. "You don't owe me anything, Katniss," I said, trying not to look at her. "I didn't do it so you would 'owe' me. I'm not Cray." I snarled the last bit, causing her to flinch._

 _She huffed, obviously exasperated. "Just tell me how I can pay you back."_

" _Be my friend." The words slipped out unconsciously, but I realized right away that it was the right thing to say._

" _What?"_

" _You heard me. You can pay me back by being my friend."_

" _What does that entail?" She eyed me harshly, as if I was trying to trick her. It struck me as weird that she had been willing to give herself to me, no questions asked, but the thought of actually being my friend caused_

" _I don't know. We could hang out sometimes. Talk, get to know each other." The more I thought about it, the more I liked the idea. I wanted to know everything about her._

 _"I'm not good at having friends," she mumbled. "And everyone would talk if we started hanging out. I'm not looking for a boyfriend."_

" _You could come here," I offered. "We could be... secret friends."_

" _And you won't tell anyone? About... about anything that happens here?"_

 _I shook my head. "I promise. It'll be our secret."_

 _She sat there, mulling it over for an inordinately long period of time. "Fine. We'll be... secret friends. I'll come visit you when I get the chance. But don't you_ dare _talk to me outside this room. Deal?"_

" _Deal."_

Effie's shrill voice wakes me. "Up, up, up! It's a big, _big_ day!"

"Five more minutes," I mumble, my voice muffled by my pillow. Effie ignores me, throwing open the curtains, assaulting me with brilliant sunshine. I roll over, pulling the covers over my head and closing my eyes as tightly as possible.

"Breakfast is in half an hour," she states, her usually bubbly voice stern. Her tone catches my attention, causing me to ignore the piercing pain of the morning sunlight and focus on her heavily made up face. "Haymitch will be there. This will be your only chance to gain his... services. Don't waste it."

Before I can say anything, the calculating woman is gone, once again replaced by the vapid Capitolite. She minces her way out of my room, telling me to make myself 'presentable.' For a few long moments I stare at the door. Did I just imagine that, or did Effie Trinket seem like a real person for a minute? My mind goes back to the Reaping, when I deduced that Haymitch Abernathy's drunken fool act was mostly fake. Could Effie Trinket's air headed attitude be just as false?

I don't bother showering, since I'd taken one less than twelve hours prior, instead throwing on the same clothes I'd worn the night before and making my way towards the dining car. My brain is working overtime, trying to figure out what the hell is going on. Both Haymitch and Effie are obviously acting a certain way for a reason, but I can't quite figure out _why_. I feel like I'm being drawn into something, something big. Perhaps Abernathy can give me some answers.

Haymitch is, indeed, sitting at the breakfast table when I arrive, a buttered roll in one hand and a glass of scotch in the other. Effie is picking daintily at a plate of eggs. "Where's Lillian?" I ask, noticing the small girl's absence. Shouldn't she have a chance to work her with her Mentor?

"She had a rough night," Effie says sympathetically. "I decided to let her have a bit of a lie in."

"I see," I reply, though I really don't. Effie seems to be big on schedules, and she's never been sympathetic or understanding towards any of the Tributes I've seen her reap over the years. Deciding not to think about it, I instead try to ingratiate myself to Haymitch. First impressions are important. "Mister Abernathy, my name is Peeta Mellark," I say, extending a hand.

He waves me away. "I know who you are." He seems lucid enough. His grey eyes are clear instead of dimmed by alcohol. "Sit. Eat."

I comply, filling my plate with every type of meat on the table. "So, Peeta Mellark, tell me why I should choose to save you over a twelve year old girl. " Haymitch's voice is rough and gravelly.

"What? Why would you have to choose?" I ask, and immediately regret it. His gaze hardens as if he's reassessing me. I realize that this is a test, of sorts, and I can't help but get the feeling that it's about more than the Games.

"Rule Number One: Don't ask stupid questions. Figure it out. Why would I have to choose between my Tributes?"

I take a moment to really think about the answer. "Well, I'm guessing that District 12 doesn't get a lot of sponsors," I hedge. Noting his disdainful look, I straighten my back and speak with more confidence. You can convince someone of anything if you can be confident enough. "You have to choose between your Tributes because you're the only Mentor in District 12. You don't have the time or resources to expend on both, so you're forced to pick the best one and effectively doom the other."

He nods, chasing his runny eggs with his roll. "At least you're smart."

"That's why you should pick me," I continue, forcing myself to maintain the air of confidence I'd been projecting. "Not only am I bigger and stronger than Lillian, I'm also the smartest Tribute you'll ever mentor."

"I'll be the judge of that," Haymitch smirks. I can't tell if I've succeeded in swaying him to my side. "If you're as smart as you say you are, then you surely already have a plan for the Games."

I nod. "It's not much of one. I knew right away that the Career Pack is going to be a problem. I can't take them on by myself, and I'm too much of a physical threat for them to let me live until after the Second Bloodbath." Haymitch is studying me carefully as I speak, his expression giving away nothing. "My first idea was to form an alliance with other able-bodied Tributes and take the fight to the Careers by setting up a trap for them to walk into. For instance, we could light a fire at night, then ambush them when they came to investigate."

"After watching the recaps last night, though, I realized that there's not enough strong Tributes outside of the Career Pack to give it a go. Besides myself, the boys from 7 and 11 and perhaps the girl from 7, everyone else is too small and weak to really put up a fight against the Careers. We'd get perhaps two or three before getting slaughtered by the rest. Besides, once one or two of ours fall, the others would likely lose heart and run away, leaving me to hold the bag."

"So what's your second idea?"

"I don't have one," I shrug. "I'm a baker and a wrestler. I have no knowledge about surviving in the wild. Even if the Careers let me live until the Second Bloodbath, I'd probably either starve or be too weak to fight back once the survivors come looking for me."

Haymitch laughs, an unpleasant, wracking sound that gives me shivers. "Well, you're honest, I can give you that much. And you've realized why the Careers always win. They have numbers resources, training, and physical strength on their side. Even if you could get every single Tribute to gang up on the Careers at the Blood Bath, you'd still lose, for the reasons you've described. Your 'Anti-Career Alliance' would crumble the moment you started losing people." He leans forward, his grey eyes boring into me. "You can't beat the Careers by running and hiding, either. You're not a tiny girl from 7 who they'll let live until their alliance falls apart. You're not terribly tall, but you have too much meat on your bones to play the troubled victim card."

"Then how do I beat the Careers?" I ask, starting to get frustrated.

"The only way to beat the Careers is to destroy their supplies. They don't know how to be hungry, never missing a meal a day in their lives," Haymitch chuckles, though I don't see what's funny. "Problem is, you're going to be their first target. You won't have the luxury of waiting for a golden opportunity."

"What? Why?"

"Because you're big, but not too big. Those monsters from 7 and 11 are going to scare them shitless," Haymitch shrugs. "They're going to put off going after them for as long as possible. They're not in any hurry to die, and they'll _know_ that each one will get at least one or two of them before going down. You're the next biggest threat, but they'll know that they can team up and kill you without too much trouble. No, they'll go after you first."

"So what do I do?" So far, Haymitch seems as stumped as I am. I've already thought of all this. "How do I beat the Careers?"

"You don't," Haymitch says simply.

"So you're saying it's hopeless," I snarl. I'm screwed. Even my mentor has no idea of how to get me past the first couple of days.

Haymitch holds up a hand to silence me. "I didn't say it's hopeless. I'm just saying you're thinking along the wrong lines. If you can't beat them, join them."

My mouth drops open. "Join the Careers? Are you insane? That never works! They'll just kill me right after the first Bloodbath or right before the second!" It was true that the Careers sometimes recruited able-bodied Tributes to their alliance, but those 'lucky' few had never won the Games. Ever.

My mentor chuckles. "I went to school with your dad. He ever tell you that?" I shake my head. "We were best friends for years, till I went into the Games. After that, well..." He trails off, his eyes going distant. He drains his glass and pours another before continuing. "Your dad could sell coal dust to a miner. He was the single most persuasive, likable son-of-a-bitch that I've ever met. That silver tongue of his nearly won him the most beautiful girl in the District, once upon a time." I know this story. Ivy Everdeen, Katniss's mother, was once Ivy Grinwald, whose parents still owned the apothecary. She had almost married my dad before running off with Galik Everdeen, a coal miner. It had apparently been a huge scandal when she'd eloped with Katniss's dad. "From what I've seen and heard, you take after your daddy. If you get enough of the Careers to _like_ you, you'll survive the first Bloodbath. If you get one of those Career girls tittering after you, you might have a shot at surviving the second."

"You want me to _date_ a Career?" I ask, gobsmacked. "You're insane. Besides, I have a girlfriend."

Haymitch slams his fist on the table, causing me to jump and his drink to spill over the rim of his glass. "And do you want to survive long enough to see her again?" He snarls, his grey eyes flashing. I nod, unable to speak. "Then you do what I tell you, when I say it, in the exact manner I tell you. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Good. Then the first thing you do is forget all about your little girlfriend back home. Don't mention her in your interviews, don't talk about her to anyone. If she gave you some favor as your District token, throw it away." I unconsciously let my hand drift to my back pocket, where my sketch of Katniss is neatly folded. "This is a _television show_! Give the people of the Capitol an entertaining show and they'll love you for it. They've heard the 'I miss my girlfriend back home' shtick a thousand times, but a romance _inside_ the Games has never been done before. I can work with a 'star-crossed lovers' act. It's different enough to draw attention and win you sponsors. Your job is to get one of those girls to like you and ingratiate yourself to the rest of the Careers. Can you handle that?"

"Yeah," I spit, my voice tinged with venom. "I can handle that."

"Then run along," he dismisses me, ignoring my spite. "I need to think."

I storm back to my room, wishing that it had a normal door for me to slam. I find myself pacing as I try to work through Haymitch's plan. I used to be popular, back before I lost all social standing. Even now, the Seam girls would cozy up to me, looking for a good time. I never once took them up on the offer; I'm already dating the most beautiful girl in the District.

I pull my sketch of Katniss from my pocket, gently unfolding it. Gazing at her face, looking at the emotions I was able to capture, I don't know if I can do this. Katniss told me to do 'whatever it takes,' but I don't think that dating a beautiful girl from a Career District is what she had in mind. Even if Haymitch manages to get me through the games, I'll probably be dead the moment I get back to 12, courtesy of an arrow through my eye.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. Katniss would just have to understand. I personally think Haymitch has gone off the deep end, but at the same tims he seems to know what he's talking about. That thought in mind, I go to start tearing up the sketch like Haymitch ordered. My hands tremble as I grip the fragile paper. I stand there for a long moment, staring at the girl of my dreams.

In the end, I fold the sketch and put it back in my pocket.

* * *

 **A/N: I know what you're thinking... but this story DOES have an Everlark endgame. It's going to be a bumpy road, but they'll be stronger for it. Fair warning: It's going to be awhile before they're reunited, but if you bare with me I promise you'll enjoy the ride.**


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